


Lured

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Captain Proton, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 21:54:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4409237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This Captain Proton chapter is a little... <i>different</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lured

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

For once, they don’t start together—though Tom caught his arm before he went in and warned him: _this one will be different_. Harry just snorted; they’re _all_ different, wild and strange and so uniquely _Tom Paris_ , but Tom looked deadly serious and reiterated, not once but three times, that Harry could shut it down any time he wanted. Harry understands, of course—he’s better with the holodeck than even Tom, technically speaking, but he hasn’t called off one of Tom’s holonovels yet, and he doesn’t plan to start today. The world they stepped into was still black and white, is still cheesy and crazy and _Tom_ all over, but for once, Harry isn’t in the rocket.

He’s in Dr. Chaotica’s lair, held against a pillar, with Lonzak tying him against it via oversized manacles. Harry only struggles peripherally, figuring he’s _supposed_ to be caught, even though that’s usually Constance’s role. Maybe this is the chapter where she finally gets better fleshed out. Or Maybe Harry’s supposed to obtain some covert intelligence to pass along to the series’ true hero. Or Maybe Captain Proton just loses this one, and Harry’s the first “good guy” to fall.

The manacles he’s bound with keep his arms above his head, not particularly comfortable but not really painful, just sort of awkward. He’s bound around the waist to the stone pillar with simple ropes, his legs the same, all loose—either struggle room for dramatic effect or just Tom’s consideration. Harry could adjust it anyway, but doesn’t, because there’s no fun in the game if he alters everything. He lets Chaotica conquer him, and he puts a convincing scowl on his face as the evil mastermind saunters over. Lonzak hurriedly shuffles out of the way, the other henchmen scurrying from the sparse throne room. It’s a somewhat unimpressive laboratory with a few hanging curtains and elaborate but nonsensical “evil” machines. Chaotica himself looks no different from usual—overdone outfit, smattering of over-gelled facial hair, beady eyes. He sweeps right up to Harry and looks down at Harry’s feet, slowly roving up Harry’s form. When they make eye contact, Harry superficially squirms against his bonds, putting on a show. It has the right effect: Chaotica dawns a languid smirk.

“Struggle all you want, Kincaid,” the thoroughly two-dimensional villain sneers. “I care not if you harm yourself with your futile struggles—it’s Proton I want.”

“Then why kidnap me?” Harry asks, though he knows—it’s just standard procedure to keep the bad guy talking, encouraging them to reveal all their sinister plans. Chaotica grins like he knows as much and was hoping for it.

“Why, to lure him here, of course!” Pausing, Chaotica gestures a hand around his lair, particularly towards the devices clearly meant for torture. Harry has the fleeting thought that perhaps that’s why Tom was so nervous coming into this and warned him so much, though he really can’t see Tom programming true torture. He was likely just being over-protective. If he is moved to those devices, he still isn’t likely to end the program: as much as he enjoys Tom’s silliness, he wouldn’t mind a more serious chapter, one with real edge. Something in Chaotica’s face is appropriately more sober than usual, and he takes a step closer to Harry. If he were human, Harry would probably be able to smell him, maybe even feel his breath, but Chaotica’s only photons, and those aren’t details Tom put in.

“We both know that insufferable fool won’t be able to stay away with you in my hands,” Chaotica nearly purrs, glee and madness in equal portions of his voice. He lifts one hand to brush the back of his knuckles along Harry’s cheek, hissing, “He’ll have no time to navigate my traps, to thwart my minions as usual, not with his precious sidekick on the line. No, my dear, you have truly given me a great gift in your incompetence! By allowing me to capture you, it isn’t only your doom that you bring, but your beloved captain’s—for now I hold Captain Proton’s one true weakness: his most prized possession!”

Harry has to stop himself from rolling his eyes at Tom’s cheesy writing. He can’t help muttering, “I’m not exactly a possession.”

Chaotica merely waves a hand, as though finding Harry’s humanity wholly unimportant. “Clearly you do not know how fond Proton is of you,” Chaotica sneers, “he would do _anything_ to get you back. He may run to save Ms. Goodheart, but for you... he’ll _fly._ ”

It’s almost touching, if Harry looks at it right. Tom might not have programmed these exact words, but he put in the sentiment. It makes Harry wonder if the real reason for the change in this chapter is some bizarre, detached way to express an appreciation of their friendship. A weird way to do it, yes, but Tom’s creative expressions are a part of his charm. Inside, Harry’s flattered. Outside, he glares, promising, “He’ll stop you, Chaotica. Just like he always does when you kidnap Constance.”

Chaotica chuckles darkly, not quite the overdone cackle he does at the end of a master plan, but something more personal, more sinister. His fist unravels, his long nails scraping Harry’s cheek, and to Harry’s confusion, they push back into his hair. Then Chaotica makes a fist, holding tight, and jerks it back; Harry’s neck snaps taut, a gasp leaving his lips. There’s a tiny sting of pain, just small enough to keep from triggering the safety protocols. Stopping the program doesn’t even occur to him. Instead, he gets a strange spark of _excitement_ —this one is for _real_. It’s like they’re playing a game and finally come out of “easy” mode. But then Chaotica opens his mouth, turns his head, and his teeth scrape along the bottom of Harry’s chin, and it becomes something else entirely. 

“Unlike Ms. Goodheart, however,” Chaotica hisses, “Proton won’t be getting this damsel back unspoiled.” 

He must mean torture, Harry thinks at first, and this is just some strange prelude. It can’t be what it feels like: Chaotica flattening against him, holding his head back with one hand and pressing the other flat against Harry’s old-fashioned shirt. The hand drags down, tracing Harry’s stomach, then curving around his waist, curling tight into his hip. Chaotica’s teeth sink into Harry’s flesh, digging in for a fierce, bruising, _bite_. Harry cries out. It isn’t quite harsh enough to draw blood—the holodeck still doesn’t stop it—but it’s wet and bizarrely intimate and _wrong_. Chaotica _never_ touches Constance like this: it’s just an unspoken rule. Then his bony fingers slip around Harry to cup his ass, rub it once—more time that Harry could shout for the arch but doesn’t—then _squeezes_ , and Harry lets out a shameful groan. 

“I was hoping you’d feel that way,” Chaotica chuckles, as though unveiling a great prize. “I must admit, my little prey... as powerless as you might be to stop me, you are a very pretty, tempting thing.” Harry lifts a brow at the word choice, only to have the grip on his hair relinquished, his head falling back into place, cheeks lightly flushed. Chaotica runs down his jaw to hold a pointed nail against his lip, opening his mouth and turning it as though for inspection. Grin growing and now obviously lecherous, Chaotica purrs, “I can see why that fool likes having you follow him around. A pity he won’t be getting his beautiful devotee back any time soon.”

It takes Harry longer than usual to scowl. “He’ll defeat you,” Harry insists. Chaotica doesn’t look the least bit worried. 

Instead, he squeezes Harry’s ass tighter, alternating between both cheeks, and muses aloud, “I could make you not wish for that, you know. I could make you _mine_ if I truly wanted.”

Somehow, Harry manages to spit, “You wish.” Chaotica’s ministrations become more distracting as they go, until Chaotica finally releases him, and before Harry’s finished a shaky exhalation, Chaotica’s grabbed him between his legs. He cries out again, only for Chaotica to squeeze harder than he did in the back. Chaotica starts fondling him, palming his clothed cock and fingering his balls through the fabric. It makes Harry grateful that the grey colour scheme can’t pick up how red his face is turning. 

“You think I couldn’t?” Chaotica seethes, finally breaking his smirk. “You think I couldn’t have Proton’s bitch begging for me, if I wished? I’m ten times the man he is! I could have you dripping hard and pleading for my cock. And maybe I will. Since Proton was fool enough to let you out of his sight, you’re in my clutches, and perhaps I’ll just take you up to my room, lay you across my bed, and make you _scream_ my name, swear fealty to me, and make you forget you ever wanted Proton.”

Starting to tremble, Harry repeats weakly, “Never.” His eyelids are growing heavy, hips treacherously pressing forward into Chaotica’s grasp. Of course he’d thought of using the holodeck for sex—most do—but he’d never though of it like _this_ , and he always enjoyed time with Tom more—trust Tom to find a way to do it both. The more Chaotica touches him, the more Harry thinks it might not be so bad to be taken up to Chaotica’s bed. He could always make a few modifications. He could have the computer take away Chaotica’s laughable goatee, change him out of his absurd clothes, maybe make his face a little younger, a little more handsome, softer, a bit like _Tom’s_.

Chaotica tightens his grip in anger, squeezing Harry’s hardening cock almost painfully. He hisses, “Don’t lie to me, Kincaid—you’d _love_ me to own you. Proton never gives you what you need, and you know it—he doesn’t, can’t touch you like I can, make you feel like this. He’s had you all this time, and he’s never even choked you on his cock. If you were my minion, I would give only the greatest gems to wear, and I would make you feel _so good_ , teach you how to make men crumble for you... and all you would have to do in return is forsake your old master, lie in my bed and spread your legs for me...”

Shivering harder, Harry moans, “No. I’ll _always_ belong to Proton.” Even though it’s true: Tom’s never made him this hard on the holodeck. Not intentionally, anyway. Still, he’s finding he doesn’t mind being tired up so much.

Chaotica snarls, jerking back. Harry whines at the loss of the hands on him, but Chaotica pulls even further away, walking towards one of the tables across the room. When he turns, his face is contorted in bitterness, a gun in his hands. It points straight at Harry’s chest, which is rising and falling rapidly with his panting breath, his crotch tented. In the ultimate cliché, Chaotica announces, “If I can’t have you, neither will Proton!”

The gun’s useless, of course: the holodeck safeties might let a few love bites get through, but a lethal projectile never would. Harry’s just a tad too frazzled to properly feign fear, so he only steels himself over, pretending he’ll go out with a bang. It’s more likely the chapter will end—while Tom rarely has unhappy endings, he loves dangerous cliffhangers. 

The chapter continues. There’s a sudden commotion outside the doorway, and they both turn to look, Chaotica’s gun leaving its target. Harry’s not particularly surprised to see Tom bursting through in all his gear, with a nice touch of Constance behind him, toting her own gun. Only belatedly does Harry realize he’s hard in front of his best friend. He squirms, trying to lift his thigh as inconspicuously as possible to hide the damage. Tom shoots him a look that isn’t quite in character—it’s full of the same hesitation he had at the beginning. Harry now understands why. He reassures Tom as best he can, announcing in pretend surprise, “Captain Proton!” It has the right effect: the commitment to the story and lack of hurt in Harry’s voice seems to bolster Tom, and he turns back to Chaotica in their armed stalemate.

“Proton,” Chaotica sneers, ignoring the other two in the room. “I knew you’d come for your precious Buster. Well, you’re too late! He’s already mine!”

“You wish,” Tom spits. He dons a small smirk, eyes glinting mischievously, and then he chirps, “But thanks for warming him up for me.” Then he pulls the trigger of his gun. In a puff of smoke, Chaotica topples backwards, screaming. As soon as he hits the floor, Constance runs over as though to check that he’s really dead. Tom ignores them. 

He lowers his gun and comes towards Harry instead, eyes now running up Harry’s body. Harry feels hot again, sure his face is dark grey for his blush, but his embarrassment is overrun by the look on Tom’s face—Tom programmed this. Tom _wanted_ this. He looks at Harry with nothing but lust, and by the time he’s reached Harry, he’s dropped the gun. 

He slips his hand along Harry’s cheek—so much _softer and warmer_ than Chaotica’s was: _real_ —and he ducks his head, slamming a full kiss to Harry’s mouth. Harry gasps against it, eyes falling closed. He pushes back, enjoying the pressure, the smell of Tom, the slight taste of Tom’s lips. Tom thumbs his cheek and kisses him longer than necessary for the scene. When he pulls back, Harry’s breathing harder than ever.

Tom asks gently, “Are you alright?” He doesn’t mention a name, probably deliberately. 

Harry nods and mumbles, “I knew you’d save me.”

Then Tom’s on him again, kissing him fiercer and grabbing his knee, hiking his leg right up and out of the ropes, then grinding in close, and Harry can feel that Tom’s hard, too, maybe from just looking at him. Tom’s fingers twist in Harry’s hair, and he grabs Harry’s waist, not that unlike Chaotica. As soon as Tom’s tongue pokes out, Harry’s sucking on it, eager and hungry and rearing to go. It’s easily the most passionate reunion their characters have ever had. It’s an important moment for them, too. 

In between kisses, Harry mutters, “Computer, release bonds,” and the ropes collapse around him, manacles disappearing. It leaves him free to grab Tom back, run his fingers through Tom’s short hair, thrust his body forward. He can’t seem to get enough of _Tom_ , who has one hell of a unique courting style. 

In the next pause, Tom orders, “Computer, switch to Captain Proton’s rocket ship interior,” and the scenery shimmers around them. The next thing Harry knows, he’s being knocked to the floor, sprawled along their photonic home-away-from-home. Tom mumbles for an explanation, “I’ve always wanted to take you here.”

“I didn’t know I wanted you to take me here,” Harry sheepishly admits, because it’s all he can do right now—he’s too turned on for deep thought about how their entire relationship just got turned on its head. Trust Tom to show him things he never knew he needed. Tom grins, like he couldn’t be happier. 

Then he crushes Harry down with the perfect kiss, reaping his hero’s reward.


End file.
